


Socialisation

by youcouldmakealife



Series: Impaired Judgment (and other excuses) [53]
Category: Original Work
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-24
Updated: 2018-09-24
Packaged: 2019-07-16 06:37:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,380
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16080527
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/youcouldmakealife/pseuds/youcouldmakealife
Summary: “Who thefuckare you dating?” he asks.“I — told you, a guy in the league,” Jared says.“A guy whoDave Summersis representing?” Greg says.“Yes?” Jared says.“Who the fuck are you dating, Jared?” Greg asks.





	Socialisation

Training camp ends, and Jared’s still up. He’s not surprised, exactly — honestly, he’d have had to play really shitty for them not to cut him before the exhibition games, considering what their roster looked like last year, plagued by injury and, you know, being the Oilers. He didn’t suck, despite how fucking exhausted he was. 

His lack of surprise sounds really arrogant even in his head, but like — you pick a dude second round, you probably have some faith that he’s going to pan out for you, and if it’s a forward, you want him to pan out for you soon. Jared doesn’t know if he’s going to make it past the gauntlet of preseason — if he thought scrimmages were tough, it’s going to be a whole other thing playing against dudes who aren’t actually on his _team_ — but at least he’s got a chance to play for it in actual games.

Brewer gets through to play exhibition too, and he looks a little stunned by his good fortune. Weird, considering he packed like he was moving to Edmonton for the rest of his life, but Jared kind of gets it — you hope, but you don’t necessarily _expect_ to stay. Plus, Jared looked: Brewer was a fifth round draft pick and his season with the Ice sucked hard last year, so getting to play an NHL game, even one that doesn’t actually count, that’s probably big for him.

God, Jared sounds like a bitch. He doesn’t mean to. At least he doesn’t say any of that out loud, to Brewer, or to anyone.

Well, to anyone but Bryce, who doesn’t call him a bitch for it, just hums along like he gets it. And of course he does. _Jared_ looks like a shitty player compared to Bryce. Jared _is_ a shitty player compared to Bryce. 

He definitely doesn’t say that out loud, because he’s pretty sure Bryce would not be humming along like if Jared said it, would get all sweet and supportive like Jared needs an ego boost and isn’t just acknowledging his boyfriend was in the top fucking twenty-five in league scoring last year. Jared’s good at hockey, he knows he’s good at hockey, even great, but Bryce is incredible.

He calls his parents to tell them he made it, of course. Gets a call from his agent congratulating him, which is nice, and then maybe not as nice a call for either of them when Jared, looking a possible NHL season right in the eye, and cohabitation with Bryce as the alternative, mentions that the boyfriend he mentioned awhile back is kind of in the league, and that Greg should probably talk to his agent.

“Who’s the agent?” Greg asks. 

“Um,” Jared says, belatedly realising he should probably double check this with Bryce first. Bryce agreed that their agents needed to talk if they were living together, but it’s one thing to have that as a plan and another thing to go through with it without asking Bryce first. And Jared doesn’t know his agent’s number anyway.

“You don’t know who his _agent_ is?” Greg asks. 

“I’ll call him and get back to you?” Jared says weakly.

“Within an hour,” Greg says, which leads to a way less fun conversation with Bryce. Jared’s — it’s not that Jared thinks Bryce agreed just so Jared would agree to move in with him, but he doesn’t think Bryce considered it like, an imminent reality?

“Shouldn’t we wait until you make the final roster?” Bryce says.

“Why?” Jared says. “If I don’t, I’m moving back in with you, and that’s definitely something our agents need to know about as well.”

“Yeah,” Bryce says, and Jared doesn’t like the way his voice sounds when he says, “Give me a second to find Summers’ number,” but there’s nothing he can really do about it.

“You know who your boyfriend’s agent is now?” Greg asks when Jared calls back, and Jared ignores the snide because he’s pretty sure he’d be just as snide if he was in the same position.

“It’s um,” Jared says. “Dave Summers. I have his number if you’re ready?”

Apparently Greg isn’t. “Who the _fuck_ are you dating?” he asks. 

“I — told you, a guy in the league,” Jared says.

“A guy who _Dave Summers_ is representing?” Greg says. 

“Yes?” Jared says.

“Who the fuck are you dating, Jared?” Greg asks.

“Bryce Marcus?” Jared says weakly.

“You did _not tell me_ your boyfriend was Bryce Marcus!” Greg says.

“I…just did?” Jared says, not sure if Greg’s mad he didn’t tell him before now, or mad that Jared told him at all.

Greg, in the space of about ten seconds, asks Jared how long this has been going on, whether this is the boyfriend Jared told him about last year, how serious it is, if Bryce’s agent knows yet, how many other people know about them, and maybe a few more that slip through the cracks of that rapidfire interrogation.

“Can you um,” Jared says. “Ask those questions one at a time?”

Greg does.

Greg does not seem to like most of Jared’s answers.

“Jesus Christ,” Greg says, when he’s finally stopped peppering Jared with questions. “Give me Summers’ number, I’ll call him now.”

Jared meekly does, hoping that conversation goes better than the one he just had.

Bryce texts him a few hours later with _summers is so mad at me rn lol_ and Jared doesn’t know if he’s imagining that it’s a little pissed sounding. Can ‘lol’s be pissed? If they can, Bryce’s is pissed. So that’s great.

Jared sends a _Sorry_ and a sad face, has to leave it at that. He can’t spend too much time hyper-focused on that threatening ‘lol’, because he’s got his first mandatory team event: well, if you considering going to a bar a team event. The mandatory bit? Everyone seems big on getting through training camp being an excuse to drink, and the way the invitation was worded, Jared’s pretty sure bowing out would be considered shitty on the whole team front. 

What seems like basically the whole roster takes over a bar near the practice rink, from the eighteen year old prospects like Jared to their oldest vet, who confided a few days ago that he has a kid only three years younger than Jared, which is vaguely terrifying. Probably scarier for him than Jared, though, to be fair.

Drinking is apparently not an option, because Jacobi bellows ‘shots’ the second they get in, like being one of the As makes him the king of the place, putting his credit card down on the bar and loudly announcing drinks are on him unless anyone ‘pussies out’ and buys anything but shots, in which case they’re on their own. 

Man, Jared _really_ doesn’t like Jacobi.

Jared summarily pussies the hell out and buys himself a beer. Beers you can nurse, which is very much not the case with shots, and if he paces himself and no one pays much attention, he can limit himself to one without getting shit for it. He doesn’t mind drinking, exactly, but it’s not really something he does much, like, at all, and he doesn’t want to drink around people he doesn’t know all that well. A clear head’s important.

Jared’s not the only one who opted for a beer despite Jacobi’s call to…drunken…arms, or whatever. Brouwer ordered a beer of his own, and Jared doesn’t think anyone’s going to be calling him a pussy for that. Not to his face, at least, not if they want _their_ face to remain intact. Brouwer has not gotten less intimidating with more exposure. Jared doesn’t think he’s seen his face set in anything but a scowl.

“To pussying out,” Jared says, lifting his beer a little in Brouwer’s direction.

Brouwer grunts. Scowls.

Nice guy. Not terrifying at all.

“Glad we had this talk,” Jared mutters, though he waits until Brouwer goes off to sit by himself in a corner first. He’s not stupid.

Team bonding or not, the Oilers and prospective Oilers separate into groups pretty quick, and Jared’s not sure where the hell he fits in. There’s what’s clearly the Leadership And Dads table, which has the guys with letters on their jerseys or probably like, investment portfolios or toddlers. Or both. Obviously Jared can’t sit there.

There’s Brouwer all by himself in that corner: absolutely not, again, not stupid.

The guys his age and a little older have started up some fucking ridiculous drinking game, like if red hands — already the dumbest game, since everyone ends up with their hands stinging, no winners there — met shots. Jared’s not a shots guy even without the addition of violence, so doesn’t want to join in on that ridiculousness, but the remaining group is like, guys in their mid-twenties, and Jared’s pretty sure they’d consider him kind of pathetic to be latching on, like a little brother trying to hang out with their older brother’s friends or something.

Jared really, _really_ doesn’t want to do shots, though.

Jared ends up standing at the bar and trying to look very, very interested in his phone. Maybe something riveting’s happening, they don’t know. Like, other than him texting Raf and Chaz and Bryce and even his mom to complain about how immature the guys his age are.

 _I know, right?_ Raf responds immediately, because he’s the fucking best. Bryce tells him the game sounds fun, because of course he thinks it does. His mom tells him to quit whining and socialise.

Jared scowls.

 _Don’t listen to your mom_ , his dad texts a minute later. _No Man Is An Island…except Mathesons._

Seriously, Jared’s dad gets him.

Jared’s managed to make a third of a pint last an hour — it’s getting warmer and warmer, so it’s easier not to drink it at this point than anything — when Ben Morris comes to stand with him at the bar, which. Shit. This is going to be one of those ‘why you being a loner loser?’ things, isn’t it.

“I’m not really a shots guy,” Jared says preemptively.

“Me either,” Morris says, which is kind of rich, since he’s had like, at least a couple since they got here. “The guys all chirp me for taking them like medicine.”

“I mean,” Jared says. “They taste like medicine.”

“Right?” Morris says. “Wanna grab a table somewhere and not drink shots?”

“I don’t want to like…put you out,” Jared says, because it’s kind of awkward if the Oilers gained a new ‘Jared the spoilsport and the guy humouring him’ one, but technically ‘Jared the spoilsport sulking at the bar’ looks worse.

“No worries, if I have any more shots I’m going to feel like crap tomorrow,” Morris says, because apparently he, unlike the rest of the young guys table, understands responsible drinking. Good on him.

“You’re from Alberta too, right?” Morris asks when they sit down. He ordered a pitcher, so Jared probably can’t drink one beer all night, but hey: look mom, no shots. Not that his mom cares, clearly, considering she was the one who told him to quit whining and socialise. Terrible influence, his mom.

“Calgary,” Jared says. “Yeah.”

“Flames fan growing up?” Morris asks.

“Yeah,” Jared says, kind of wary. 

“It’s weird, right?” Morris asks.

“Um,” Jared says.

“I mean, my family was all Oilers fans? Like, big ones,” Morris says. “But then my brother got drafted by the Flames, so like, he had to adjust the opposite way. Apparently it was weird for him. Weird for me too, like, cheering for the Oilers but also my brother, you know?”

“It is kind of weird,” Jared says, instead of, ‘my boyfriend says your brother’s a dick’, because a) that’s rude and b) brings up the whole boyfriend thing before Jared can know if Morris is trustworthy and c) would possibly get Morris wondering how the hell Jared’s boyfriend even _knows_ Luke Morris.

Ben Morris seems nice, though. Legitimately nice. So Jared guesses it isn’t hereditary. 

“How is it playing him?” Jared asks. It won’t be the same as playing a boyfriend, obviously, but Jared’s — playing Bryce might be the reality soon, and Morris has a better idea of what that might be like than anyone else Jared knows.

“Weird,” Morris says, because he apparently likes the word. “I think it’s the worst for our parents, you know, because one of us winning means the other loses? Plus my mom’s super paranoid Luke’s like, not going to pay attention to the number on the back and like, accidentally board me.”

Jared…wasn’t worried about Bryce accidentally boarding him. Until now. Though it’s not like he’s ever going to be on the ice at the same time as Bryce — the Oilers may suck, but they’re still not going to put an eighteen year old on their first line.

 _Please don’t accidentally board me_ , Jared texts Bryce when Morris goes to the bathroom.

 _???_ Bryce texts back, then, _I wud never hurt u_ with a heart, because he’s a dope.

Jared heads back earlier than most of the guys, but he’s not the first or anything, and it’s not actually him being unsocial or anything. In fact, he looks pretty good, because Brewer got absolutely trashed playing that stupid game, like, Jared’s vaguely worried he’s going to trip over his own feet trashed, and Jared offers to make sure he gets back the hotel safe. It’s a convenient way to leave, but Jared also like…doesn’t want his roommate to die, he’d like to note.

 _Are you having fun?_ his mom texts him while they’re waiting for the ride Jacobi called for them, Brewer making worryingly sick noises beside him. Jared has no idea why she’s still up. It’s not like she’s waiting for him to come home for curfew or something.

 _It wasn’t the worst night of my life_ , Jared texts back. _On my way back_ , he adds, in case this was like, a three hundred kilometre distance curfew check. 

_I’m glad you had fun_ , his mom says, because apparently her reading comprehension sucks.

 _I have go make sure my roommate doesn’t drown in his own vomit now_ , Jared says. _Super fun!_

He’s pretty sure the smiley she sends back is mocking him.


End file.
